


Familial Ties

by xunyuu



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bleeding Effect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:49:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xunyuu/pseuds/xunyuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the bleeding effect, Desmond witnesses a softer side of Haytham and Connor's familial relationship, but that only makes what happens after he re-enters the Animus all the more disheartening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familial Ties

It was interesting, the feeling of lightheadedness that overtook him every time something like this would happen. He was suddenly whisked off his feet and cast into a different time. It was as if he were treading on air, moving his limbs through a silky layer of nothingness, swimming in the debris of times past. People long dead passed by him as silvery will-o-wisps taking earthly form, and their nonsensical chatter changed from an unintelligible undercurrent of noise to words of a foreign tongue, and finally, to conversations that sounded ever so familiar to his ear. 

The swirling was beginning to slow into a thick plasma and the specters took shape, forming people and animals. Larger structures sprung forth and constructed themselves in a matter of milliseconds. Decades upon decades of architecture, erected in the mere blink of an eye. 

Then /he/ appeared.

Desmond watched as his ancestor leapt from rooftop to rooftop, pouncing in the likeliness of a beast rather than the eagle-like movements of the others. As a few more seconds passed, he could start to feel the muscles stretching, could smell the sea breeze wafting from the docks, could taste the salt and ash in the air. 

It had been merely an hour since he had stepped out of the Animus to take a short break, but even in his dreams, his mind could not rest. 

This particular area of what appeared to be 18th century Boston was unfamiliar to him, which was surprising, because Desmond thought that he had already visited every nook and cranny the city had had to offer. As Connor traveled farther and farther from the heart of Boston, the houses became shabbier and shabbier. There was a significantly smaller amount of people wandering the streets, and soon enough, there weren’t any at all. 

The deserted area was a bit disconcerting, but Desmond couldn’t help but think that a quiet area of Boston during what seemed like a slow period of the American Revolutionary War was much less threatening than the warring Holy Lands or invading the Vatican. He still had no idea what he was doing out there, though, and Connor was certainly not offering any hints. 

After another few minutes of abstract acrobatics, he arrived at a small shack, no larger than a couple of semi-trucks squished together to form a room. 

"What’s he gonna do in there?" Desmond wondered aloud, his voice echoing across the landscape in waves unperceivable to all of the inhabitants – or lack thereof. Part of him wondered if it would be like the instance when he first experienced the Bleeding Effect. Was Connor meeting up with a lover for a rendezvous like Altair and Maria had? That wasn’t possible, right? The guy didn’t seem to have had any time for personal relationships.

When he saw what was really transpiring, though, Desmond couldn’t help but let out a whispy “Oh.”

Haytham was sitting at a small wooden table located in the center of the room. He had his arms crossed across his chest in an impatient manner and was staring at the empty chair on the other side of the table. The room was unfurnished aside from those three wooden structures. It was cramped and dimly lit by candles set carefully around. The aroma that filled the room, however, caused Connor’s stomach to rumble rebelliously.

"You’re late," Haytham scowls. "But alas, I should have expected nothing less from you, son. Please, take a seat."

Desmond could sense Connor’s reluctance, but the Assassin took a seat nonetheless, and a staring contest proceeded to take place. Finally, Connor’s gaze flitted downward at the neatly set table – there was a fully cooked turkey, some rolls of bread, a bowl of squash and another of potatoes, as well as plates and silverware and even a table cloth. 

"Happy Thanksgiving," Haytham declared, spreading his arms before him as he gestured to the table. 

"Why should I celebrate a holiday dedicated to the subjugation of my people?" Connor retorted, a look of disgust set upon his face.

"Well, technically," Haytham interjected, leaning back in his chair. "They weren’t /your/ people. Not your tribe, at least."

"They were still natives of this land."

"True, you have a point." The Templar sighed. "Fine. Then forget Thanksgiving. But, let us eat in celebration, nonetheless."

"Celebration of what?"

"Of our camaraderie, of course!"

Desmond felt contempt growing in himself, but soon realized that it was actually Connor’s feelings that had manifested. “‘Camaraderie?’ I would hardly call it that.”

"Oh, for the love of God, Connor, would you /try/ to be civil with me for one night as a son should be to his father?" The exasperation in Haytham’s voice was obvious, and Desmond could feel the turmoil boiling within Connor. 

A long moment passed, but finally, Connor let out a sigh. “Fine. One night.”

The scenery broke down at that moment, and Desmond was once more surrounded by whirlwinds of silver. Voices whispered around him, but soon dissipated into silence.

"How have you been, son?" Haytham’s bodiless voice sounded distant. 

"How do you think I—" Connor began, but abruptly cut himself off. Desmond heard another sigh. "I have been busy…./father/."

"Ah, yes, I would imagine so…"

The voices faded again, and soon the room reconstructed itself. Desmond watched and listened as Connor and Haytham conversed. They talked of everything but the war. /Either/ wars – one between the Colonists and the Crown, and the other between the Assassins and the Templars. Hours passed, and Desmond began to wonder how they managed to stay so long in each other’s company without pulling out the hidden blades strapped onto their forearms. 

Even more surprising was that they parted on a good note. Haytham left first. When Connor inquired about the leftovers, Haytham merely waved his hand and told his son to keep the food if he wished. Connor remained in the small shack for a while longer, simply sitting and staring at the food. Perhaps it was poisoned? No…the thought was quickly dismissed, and if Desmond had seen correctly, there was the faintest ghost of a smile creeping on Connor’s lips as the man exited the room and headed for the rooftops once more. 

"Desmond," this voice was different. It didn’t feel like it belonged to anyone in his vision. "Deeeesmond. Wake up! Nap time’s over. Baby’s waitin’ for you!" 

Desmond blinked sleepily as Rebecca’s face soon came into focus. He was exhausted. It felt like he hadn’t slept a wink. As he followed her back to the Animus, Desmond couldn’t help but dwell on the newfound familial relationship between Connor and Haytham. It was nice, and he failed to stop himself from wondering if he and his father could maybe make peace one day (though of course, he would never admit this to William). 

When he entered back into the world of the Animus, he did so with a happier outlook. He really hoped that Connor would be able to persuade Haytham to abandon the Templars, or even if the latter didn’t, at least they could work together and maybe, when the Revolution was over, they could live like a normal family. Perhaps that’s why what he experienced next was so very devastating to him. Perhaps that’s why Desmond felt himself breaking down a little more than normal. Perhaps that’s why his heart was heavy from then on.

(How could they have fallen so far in that amount of time when they had been so happily chatting earlier on?)

From the moment he plunged the hidden blade into Haytham’s throat as Connor, Desmond couldn’t help but resign himself to the terrible fate that seemed to inevitably follow everyone in his bloodline.


End file.
